


DGgeoff: Origins

by rage_quitter



Series: Immortal FAHC Origin Stories [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Immortality, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rage_quitter/pseuds/rage_quitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoff Ramsey, traitor turned leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DGgeoff: Origins

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of suicide and war.

He never regretted it, turning traitor. Sure, it sucked having his commanding officer shoot him right between the eyes, but after that he was free.

Geoffrey Fink didn’t want to fight in the war at all. Despite having grown up in Alabama, he’d spent plenty of time in the North and only signed up because of the social obligation. He kissed his wife and kids goodbye and headed off to war in early 1862.

The battle at Cedar Mountain was the end for him. It was hot, he was tired, he was angry about the war and he wanted to go home. He was under the command of Brigadier General Charles Winder until the man was skilled by a shell. Taliaferro had no idea what to do when he was appointed in command. Most of the battle dissolved into chaos when the Union attacked. It was mostly just look for blue, shoot, reload, repeat. Geoff held back.

He wished he could look at the letter in his breast pocket, written to him by his wife shortly before they’d gotten here. He kept her letters with him, regardless of what its contents were. She’d told him about their son telling her about a girl he liked, and about the heat scorching their town.

Before joining the army, Geoff had been the owner of the only bar in town. It wasn’t the best job but it was decent and Geoff had a love for liquor. He wasn’t a mean drunk, no, but was friendly and cheerful. It was his wife who kept him in check when he drank and made sure he stayed sober on the job. In his absence she was running the bar. As unusual as it was, no one complained, so far as he knew.

His home, his wife, and his job felt very far away as the cracking of rifles resonated in his ears and he struggled to reload his gun. He just wanted to go home.

The Union then burst out of the woods.

It was hectic. All hell broke loose. Geoff was sure they would lose. And he didn’t care. His pent up anger and frustration at this damned war boiled in his veins and he snatched up a blue cap from the ground to replace his gray one. A nearby Union soldier looked startled at him. Geoff fired at one of his own men and gave the Union man a grim smile.

And then Stonewall arrived.

Needless to say, they ended up winning. Geoff tried to sneak off with the Union soldiers. It didn’t work.

Now he found himself standing trial. He knew it was coming. He burned with anger. There was no regret.

Taliaferro was handling it, with a few other soldiers. Most of the others were kept out, but the rumor spread anyway. Yes, Geoff Fink, he was a traitor, he turned on the Confederacy and killed some of our own men, they said. They weren’t wrong.

The trial was fast, and Geoff didn’t remember a single word. He stood, hands tied with thick cord, past the encampment, on the battlefield. Taliaferro and three other men were the only ones there.

“Any last words?” Taliaferro asked.

Geoff shook his head. “Nothing to you. The only thing I want is for my last letter to be sent to my wife.”

One of the men was recording down the interaction. He hesitated, but Taliaferro waved him on. “Very well. For the sake of your family, I will not list you officially as a traitor. You’ll be listed as KIA and your family will receive the appropriate benefits.”

Geoff’s shoulders slumped in relief at that. “Thank you.”

“But in my eyes, you’re a traitor. This is the only kindness you will get, for your wife and your children.”

“I understand.” Geoff wanted it over with. Just shoot me, get it done, let me be free.

One of the other men had a pistol specifically for this. Taliaferro gave him the signal and he raised it. Geoff squared his shoulders and closed his eyes.

He heard the bang of the gun, and then nothingness.

And then he woke up. There was blood in his hair and a scar on his forehead. He was over a mile away from the camp.

Did he… really just get shot? No doubt about it. No way it missed or didn’t kill him. Men didn’t survive bullet wounds to the face, not right between the eyes. That was death. And even if he could survive, not feeling totally fine, not on the same day, not without years of medical treatment.

In any case, he was still a traitor to the Confederate army. He needed to go.

His hands were still tied, but he found a knife on the body of a soldier nearby. He was at the far edge of the battlefield. He cut the cord from his wrists and gathered what he could from the corpses.

He had to get the hell out of dodge.

Naturally, he moved west. He avoided the troops at all costs, switching to civilian clothes the first chance he could. He was a dead man, literally. On all legal records. He was dead. But here he was now, on a horse heading west, after being shot in the head.

The thought of his wife, crying in the bar alone at night, kept him awake and tortured. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t do anything about her. She had to live without him. And when he died again taking a tumble off of a bridge into a rushing river and came back to his horse soaked and annoyed, he knew she’d be in danger. This power, or whatever he seemed to have, would only put her at risk. So he left her behind and traveled toward the Pacific.

He died a few more times and the third time he stayed put for over a day, having a severe panic attack, something Geoff rarely had. But it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t natural to fall so far and come back to life, Geoff had something wrong with him. He couldn’t die. Even when he tried to kill himself, he just wasted a bullet. And then dulled his knife blade a little. And another bullet. The road to California was spattered in his self-spilled blood in his agony and hatred for the existence of everything. It was a dark time. He never spoke of it.

He became a bit of a hermit when he reached the coast, staying near to a town to buy things he might need like books or clothes but otherwise stayed in a small house by the sea, tending to his small garden and rereading his wife’s letters and scouring every source of information on science and religion for an explanation as to why. He never found an answer.

He didn’t age, he found after several years, and had long since found that wounds healed rapidly if they weren’t immediately life threatening. The only cost was his own energy, so he ate a lot. He returned to drinking, but this time he was bitter. The town didn’t like him very much.

It took fifty years for him to stop hating everything so damn much. He mellowed as technology took off in a storm and had electricity installed. He bought a car. He stocked up on moonshine and planted plenty of things that could be used to make alcohol when he heard about prohibition.

When he heard about moonshine running, he found in himself a love of organized crime. He’d of course bootlegged during the war, but this was more than sneaking a pint in one’s boot. He quickly became a successful seller of alcohol, with rum-runners taking his liquor all over the west. He became rich very quickly and stayed well off even through the Depression. He heard about a tragic accident in a more northern part of the state, where one of his many runners was killed in a car crash. It was sad, he thought, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

When the prohibition era ended and he’d amassed a small fortune, he was one of the first people to move to Los Santos, San Andreas after its founding and opened, of course, a bar. He helped bring a lot of important people to the island that helped build it into the metropolis it would become.

In the early 1940s, it was late one night, chilly in November. There were a few patrons at the bar, most of them snidely mocking the lone woman, who looked relaxed as she sipped on a beer at the bar. Geoff was cleaning out a glass when a man walked over to her. Geoff stiffened at the things he said to her, but before he could respond, the woman smiled at him, and then clocked him right in the jaw.

“Say that to your mother, see what she thinks,” the woman remarked coldly, and went back to her drink.

The man looked to Geoff, who glared back. “Get the fuck outta my bar, you and your friends, before I take care of you.” Geoff was not one to tolerate bullshit. They scrambled fast.

“Hey, you all right, miss…?”

“Jack,” she said. “Just Jack, please. I’m just dandy.”

“Good arm you got there.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“Pretty lady like you? I wouldn’t have believed it. You look more of the… use your femininity against donkey-brained fools like him than someone with that kind of punch.”

Jack laughed. “Oh, I can do that too. I’m a person of many talents. And I hear you are too, Mister Ramsey.”

The fake name he’d adopted. It was essentially his legal name now. “Just a bar owner. I’m nothing too special.”

“No, I’m talking about your very successful running business. The one you’ve still got going on.” She smiled sweetly.

“What are you talking about?” Curse that crack in his voice!

“I want in. I want to help.”

And so Jack was hesitantly made his partner in crime. It wasn’t until he was stabbed by an unhappy bar patron that they discovered they were both immortal. For a while, Geoff had to lay low and let Jack take over the bar. Geoff had to hide until people forgot him. Jack sent him to Texas for a while, where he was pickpocketed by a British kid who survived Geoff stabbing him in the lungs. Gavin was a clever man with smooth words and an innocent charm. Geoff asked him to join his crime circle, and took him back to Los Santos. The three became a strong team, moving from alcohol running to drugs and arms dealing. They pulled off a heist, robbing a convenience store run by some asshole who started a fight at the bar a few nights before.

They were searching for fame and fortune, and wanted a name to show it. Geoff thought of Achievement Hunter, and they liked it a lot. But once they’d gotten that fame, gotten the money, it felt more like they wanted the fun. And this the Fake was introduced. The Fake AH Crew, the group that pretended to want wealth and glory but was just a bunch of immortal adventure seekers.

Michael and Ray, Lindsay, Caleb, Ryan, Kerry, Matt and Jeremy. Geoff’s crew expanded over the years, a formidable force, and with an almost sappy friendship between them all.

No, sir, he thought. He did not regret his betrayal of the Confederacy all those years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth origin story for the crew. immortal-fahc.tumblr.com has all of them and more.


End file.
